


Golden Brown

by evilRevan



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Hurt, Kids, Loss, Minor Drug Use, Old Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 06:40:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5656306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilRevan/pseuds/evilRevan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why the fuck did it have to be now?” A hiss slipped through his mouth as his voice hitched, bitterness coating his tongue. Hancock felt angry at her passing. Denial was more apt. It wasn’t her fault… but his. He didn’t notice anything off about her last night. Assumed she’d make it through the night and spend another day with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Golden Brown

**Author's Note:**

> A person I followed wanted pain in the form of Hancock (or other characters) dealing with the SS dying of old age. And me being me fulfilled their request as my brain wouldn't let me do anything other than write this sad as hell fic.

Hancock watched from the sidelines the world moved in slow motion, the jet kicking in fast and hard as words became gibberish to his ears, muddled and distant as various people stood around a small mound of freshly turned earth. Scarred eyelids welded shut when everything came back into focus. Mournful strangled sobs shattered the silence, knees bent in the dirt, their hands slowly and gently leaving behind little odds and ends. Wilted flowers and tasty snacks were left ontop of the darkened soil.

  
A lump made itself known as Hancock swallowed hard. The significance of the trinkets were well known to him, having seen so many people do the same in his lifetime. Part of him denied what he had seen. Trying desperately to erase the images from his brain the best that he could. But no matter how hard he tried the truth wouldn't simple die. It bubbled back up until the Mayor was forced to accept the truth. Those trinkets were for the dearly departed. For their leader. For their friend. For their companion. But more importantly.. they were leaving behind trinkets for the _love_ of his life. The only other person which had kept him sane in this fucked up hell hole called the Commonwealth. 

His heart ripped in two when he pictured Anari all dressed up in a tuxedo, the biggest shit eating grin on her face as a priest nearly lost his shit at the woman’s balls to simply forgo a wedding dress. Elation and pride reflected in his eyes that day, the sensation growing stronger when everything was said and done. Before the end of the day they had promptly pissed the priest off when Hancock couldn’t keep his hands to himself, and god bless Anari, let loose a bunch of dirty innuendos which made the stuffy old man turn a bright shade of red. The flustered sputtering made everything that much better. Thinking back on it Hancock might have admitted he put some stock in fate. After all, what were the odds he'd meet a woman who hated his guts when they first met only to fall into love nearly a year later? 

  
And now? Nothing but curses came rippling from his mouth. Everything had been ripped away from him, a dagger plunging itself into the flesh of his heart… over and over until he could almost see red dripping out from his frock. Maybe that was the chems flooding into the ghoul’s veins; a nasty mix of  Day Tripper, mentats, and med-x rolled into one little syringe. It was potent and helped to dull the pain… if only a little bit.

  
“Father..”

  
A firm hand shook his shoulder gently, desperation and sadness marring the feminine voice filling the silence. A tall chubby looking woman with swollen red eyes shot him a soothing apologetic look, wild frizzy red hair hanging down her shoulders in a mess. The girl never did like to keep her hair neat and tidy, he mused. 

  
“I’m alright spitfire.” It was a horrible lie. It took only seconds for the lie to fall apart at the seams, tears welling up in the corners of his coal eyes, the finality of everything knocking the wind right out of him. The dagger felt like it had been dipped molten lava before plunging blade first into his chest. It stung. It hurt…. and there there wasn’t a cure for the pain eating him away.

  
Jean, the little spitfire Hancock and Anari found hidden under a shopping cart with a tiny boy bleeding out, took a few steps towards him. The redhead held her arms out on either side of her before engulfing in him a warm soothing hug. It was the final nail in the coffin for the Mayor. Hot tears trickled down his scarred grooved face teeth digging into the mangled skin in an attempt to save some dignity.

  
The ghoul told himself he couldn’t cry at her funeral. Anari wouldn’t have liked it. The grey eyed woman would have scolded him if she was still around. But she wasn’t. And all he was left with was a gaping hole in his heart. Withdrawals were nothing compared to the pain. Nothing could compare to the utter helplessness he felt when he woke up today, the sheer panic pounding in his ears when he saw her aged body beside him… cold and lifeless. The love of his life passed in her sleep… died of old age.

  
She left him here. All by himself. _Alone_.

  
“Why the fuck did it have to be now?” A hiss slipped through his mouth as his voice hitched, bitterness coating his tongue. Hancock felt angry at her passing. Denial was more apt. It wasn’t her fault… but his. He didn’t notice anything off about her last night. Assumed she’d make it through the night and spend another day with him.

Fate was one son of a bitch. It gave him something to keep pushing on... only to rip it out from under him when he least expected it.

  
“It was mother’s time…” The bitterness didn’t subside. He wanted to rip someone’s head off… drown himself in chems… just anything to forget about the dull look in Anari’s grey eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, the warmth in her eyes snuffed out like a candle. 

  
 _You knew it was coming._ The words looped around in his head, dangling the truth he had tried to ignore for the past year. His wife was human, not a ghoul. She wasn’t going to live forever like he was. Hell he watched as the black of her hair greyed… her skin growing more loose as age took hold, her joints failing just as her eyesight went with them. Half the time he would read her things in their bed because she simply couldn’t see any more. It was heartbreaking. But that was life.

  
Fingers curled into his palm nails tearing apart the skin until thing ribbons of blood dripped across the dull patchy skin. “I should have paid more attention.” The arms around him tightened, squeezing the thin ghoul as if trying to stop that train of thought before it spiraled out of control.

  
Tears sprinkled on top of his bare head- his tricorn left behind in the whirlwind of madness which ensued this morning. “Don’t blame yourself.” Hancock could hear Jean sniffling. The defiant little girl both he and Anari raised together shook, the death of her adoptive mother sinking in with every word he spoke. Part of him cursed for not realizing he wasn’t the only one who lost someone. Jean and wherever Dave was right now, had lost someone dear to them too. He lost a _wife_. They lost a _mother_.

  
When Hancock felt the arms around him fall, too weak to keep holding him, he put his arms around the little tyke he had the privilege to watch grow up into a damn fine woman. “Don’t be holding your tears back for my sake, spitfire.” The ghoul tried his best to make it sound like a joke. But his hoarse voice didn’t give the words the normal lighthearted feel. It felt hallow… _dead_. 

  
Whatever it sounded like the young woman couldn’t hold back the sobs any longer. Jean shook and cried her heart out against him, her tears leaving behind trails of moisture on his coat as the fibers tried to soak up the wetness falling down like rain. The raw unaltered pain in her screams send a thousand daggers tearing into his chest. While they weren’t related by blood he sure as hell loved her like any child of his own, just as Anari had. And it hurt like hell to hear the mournful cries breaking out of her throat, burning tears marring her face as her larger form shook like a leaf.

  
Hancock couldn’t find the words to soothe her. He was still reeling from the pain himself and nothing he told himself could dig himself out of the ditch he created. All he could do was rub hold his daughter close, his hand rubbing her back like he always had back when she was a small hat stealing scamp. The two of them missed the pitying glances sent their way. Nick had stopped by to walk Jean home after crying for three hours straight in the arms of her father, the synth trying his damnest to keep the young woman from running herself ragged, his metal hands pushing away the nearest bottle of alcohol or chems from her sight in case she tried to drown out the pain like her father. Jean never touched either, following her mother's footsteps when it came to the stuff. But death was tricky business. It had the unpredictably to make a person do something they didn’t normally do. 

  
Numb Hancock glanced over towards the small grave. Black eyes spied a small flat stone affixed to the back of the grave the words _Anari Shive_ engraved into the rock with loving caring hands. _His_ handiwork. 

  
Rough fingers fiddled with his pockets pulling out a small cigarette box. He tapped the bottom of it, a single cigarette falling out into his awaiting hand. The ghoul wasted no time placing it in his mouth and lighting the other end, the smoke filling his lungs as he inhaled deeply letting the fumes engulf him before releasing the strong smelling smoke from out his nasal cavity. Hancock could practically see Anari wrinkling her nose at him, her lips pressed together tightly in silent disapproval. The woman never told him to stop taking the chems, to stop drinking, or to stop smoking. She let him be him... accepting both the good and bad. IT was more than most did for him.

  
Taking another drag he trudged through the dead grass towards his wife’s final resting place. The ground crunched underfoot, the noise providing a distraction as he inched closer and closer the the raised earth… to the tombstone. Dread settled in the pit of man’s stomach, words dancing around in his head over how much of a fool he was to have fallen asleep next to her last night. He could have _prevented_ this. Could have _saved_ her…

  
The acidic bite of the smoke entered his lungs. The taunting voices faded as the smoke danced out in front of him thin ribbons of smoke twisting and turning in the wind as it picked up, slowly dispersing without a trace. 

  
Boots stilled as his fingers reached outwards, his scarred flesh brushing across the cold rock bearing Anari’s full name. It took only one look for his to give out from under him, his weight sinking into the soft soil, teardrops sprinkling the dark brown earth with moisture as the Ghoul couldn’t hold back any longer. Hancock knew deep down she wouldn’t be able to spend forever with him. Knew it and tried to ignore it. And here he was… completely alone. The same way he started nearly forty years ago.

  
A fist collided with the stone slab, beating it over and over until all his fingers had fractured into several different pieces. Hancock only stopped when Nick and Piper found him cursing and screaming at the tombstone, the two quickly pulling him up off the ground and back into the nearest house to treat his wounds. He didn’t even answer them when they asked what happened. All he could do was mutely stare at the ceiling, beaten and broken as the world came crashing down around him. Jean and Dave couldn’t save him from his own personal hell stewing in his mind. 

  
Only _one_ person did. And that person was _buried_ six feet under.


End file.
